


Halflings

by HawthornDragonHeartstring



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Discrimination, Drinking, Elf-Blooded, Eventual adoribull, F/M, I like irish whiskey what can i say, I'll mark the chapter it's in, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Irish, M/M, Modern Girl in Thedas, Music, Nightmares, OC is Herald, Rite of Tranquility, Sneaking, Swearing, Thief, cole is my child and i love him, its never really described in full, just through cole's thought dialogue thing, mostly Jamesons, no set update schedule, somebody please beta this for me im dying over here, tags will be updated as I go, the rape is a memory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthornDragonHeartstring/pseuds/HawthornDragonHeartstring
Summary: 26 year old Maire Clare Cassidy is visiting her parents’ grave.24 year old Harillin Roth is buying throwing knives in Lowtown.The sky explodes in green light, and both their lives are changed forever.





	1. Chicago, December 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maire: my-rah  
> Aoife: ee-fah
> 
> EDIT: So I changed Maire's father's name to Fergus. For reasons.

Almost there.

Maire stared at the calendar on her phone. The 24th of December was tomorrow.

She sighed, dropping her face into her hands. Tomorrow she would trudge out in knee deep snow with a bouquet of clovers to visit their grave. She would sit on the grass, no matter how wet, and tell them what had happened in the last year. It's not like it made a difference. Every year she would tell them the same things. She's still working at that shitty office job, she still lives in her shitty studio apartment, she still hasn't gotten a cat, she still doesn't have a boyfriend, and she's still depressed.

Therapy, pills and who knows how many doctor appointments weren’t enough to make her better. She’d been trying for eleven years now, and she only stopped cutting about two years ago.

Two years. Had it really been two whole years since her parent’s accident? She shook her head. _Snap out of it Maire. It doesn’t matter. You have to keep going. For them._

“Hello? I’m here for an appointment with Dr. Langley?”

A shrill voice jarred Maire out of her reverie.

“What? Oh! I’m sorry, what was your name?” Maire shuffled through the papers on her desk for Scott Langley’s schedule.

“Kathy Bellmont, Bellmont News Chicago,” The wiry woman slapped a press ID on the desk, “Dr. Langley is giving me an exclusive on his new invention,” she bragged.

Maire nodded politely, checking her ID, “Well, Miss Bellmont, it appears your appointment with Dr. Langley was scheduled for yesterday, the 22nd.”

“What?!” She shrieked, “Today is the 22nd! Check your calendar again!”

“Miss Bellmont, if you would just-”

“Idiot receptionist, you have your dates wrong! I demand you fix this before I find your superiors,” She crossed her arms, holding her nose in the air.

Maire very nearly raised an eyebrow.

“Ma’am. I can speak to Dr. Langley and see if there’s a way he can fit you in today,” Miss Bellmont opened her mouth to reply but Maire held up a finger, “If that is unacceptable to you I can and will call security to escort you out of the building. Do I make myself clear, Miss Bellmont?”

The woman in question opened and closed her mouth, looking much like a fish.

“Miss Bellmont? Do I make myself clear?”

She nodded timidly.

Miss Bellmont was only one in a stream of troublesome people Maire faced on an almost daily basis. She was good at her job, but that didn’t mean she liked it. It was draining. Every day was a struggle, but she faked her way through it. She was good at that. Lying. Pretending she was something she’s not.

When Maire came home that night she dropped onto her bed and pointedly ignored tomorrow.

The dream Maire had that night was more tiring than staying awake would have been. She found herself strolling down a sidewalk in a small town with no color. The people were sluggish and lethargic. It wasn't long before Maire felt something dark slipping into her mind. She shook her head willing it to clear, but it was insidious, pulling and poking at her darkest memories. She felt her mind fading as the grey seeped in, dimming the color that once was so bright.

Maire stopped her strolling. What was the point of moving when it was so much _easier_ just to stop. To stop trying. To stop caring. Maire stopped fighting the lethargy, letting it take hold of her completely. She dropped to the ground and laid back, apathy washing over her. She could just lay there. Until she died. It would be easier. She wouldn't have to do anything at all. Just wait for the darkness to take hold.

So that's what she did.

Maire woke feeling nauseous. She clutched her stomach and curled into herself, her form wracking with the power of her sobs.

 

* * *

 

It was a family tradition to take a swing of Jameson's at a funeral, so Maire decided to keep that tradition going in grave visits as well. She grabbed the Irish whiskey from the cupboard, and filled her silver hip flask to the top. So what if she had a little more than a swig? It still counted.

Maire pulled on some stretchy jeans and a nice long green t-shirt, tying a black belt around her waist. Her ginger hair was done up in a long fishtail braid that fell over her shoulder. She glanced in the mirror. She looked thoroughly Irish if nothing else. Her freckles weren’t quite as prominent in the winter, but they still covered her face and arms thoroughly. Maire sighed, shrugging on her short black trench coat. She split her flask, phone, keys, and pocket knife between her left and right pockets, and started the trek to her parents’ grave.

The graveyard was quiet. Not surprising, really. It was Christmas Eve. Most people would do their damndest not to be in a graveyard on Christmas Eve. But Maire Clare Cassidy was not most people. Her parents died when she was twenty-four, and she hasn’t celebrated a birthday or holiday since. To be honest, it was kind of sad. Sad was the norm for Maire though.

Severely depressed since age 15, Maire has been through the ringer. Being alone at her parents’ grave on Christmas Eve was not all that bad, considering.

She knelt in front of the black granite slab.

 **Fergus and Aoife Cassidy. Loving Parents**. 

Below the monogram was a simple triquetra knot. It matched the tattoo on the inside of her right wrist, just like it matched the tattoos on her mother and father. The triquetra was a symbol of balance, and the family saw it as a symbol for the three of them: mother, father, and daughter.

Maire traced the triquetra with her finger before placing her bouquet of clovers on top of the slab. She closed her eyes, wishing for a chance to prove to her parents that she was more than just a depressed receptionist.

She got what she asked for when the world exploded in light and green.

Maire was thrown back from the grave. A hole had ripped into the very air. It pulsed and danced as she got to her feet to look through it. There was a woman on the other side of the hole. She was floating, terror twisting her features.

“Someone! Help me!”

The robed woman was calling for help. Maire steeled herself. She’d always wanted adventures. Maybe this was her chance.

The air around her crackled as the hole started to close. _It's now or never, Maire._ She took a breath, and jumped through.

 

* * *

 

It was a strange feeling, travelling between dimensions. It was as if she was simultaneously being ripped apart and squished into nothing. Hindsight and all, she should have known it was going to hurt, but nothing would have prepared her for the unique burning pain of interdimensional travel.

Maire gasped as she fell to the floor.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

A deep voice commanded the room’s attention. _You have to move! Now Maire! Someone needs your help!_ Her every nerve screamed at her to stay down, but she groaned and forced herself to look up.

The thing in front of her – Maire knew who it was. Corypheus. The villain of Dragon Age: Inquisition. But that wasn’t possible.

The woman, who Maire now realized was the Divine, slapped the orb out of Corypheus’ hands, and toward Maire. She snatched it off the ground.

The orb shook in Maire’s left hand, burning a hole in her palm. Corypheus screamed at her, and the world exploded in green light once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here's a link if you don't know what a triquetra looks like: http://blacksheepstickers.co.uk/182-thickbox_default/triquetra-pagan-bumper-sticker.jpg
> 
> If you have any interest at all in betaing this please message me. I need help. Desperately.
> 
> Also, I am notoriously bad at completing fics. But I have like 10 chapters of this written already and I haven't lost my steam yet so I think I might actually finish this one. Regardless, there isn't really gonna be a set update schedule. It's sorta just whenever I get it done enough to post.


	2. Magic and Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seekers, Dwarves, and Elves, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's a couple of things:
> 
> The next few chapters are gonna have a lot of dialogue straight from the game. I tried to minimize it as much as possible, but it's harder than it seems. Sorry about that!
> 
> I don't know if this was clear, but Maire speaks with a slight Irish brogue. Just in case you want to have that in your brain and such. 
> 
> And this is the big one - In the game, the mark hurts the Inquisitor, but is not debilitating. In the canon of Halflings the mark is going to be a lot more painful, mostly because I thought it was stupid how little using the mark seemed to bother the Inquisitor. I mean, really. It's an open wound on their hand full of strange magic. That would hurt, a lot.

Maire woke on her knees with chains around her wrists and a pounding in her head. Her hand surged, power burning at the edges of her skin. She screamed at the feeling of ripping flesh.

There was no time to take in the room, or the soldiers occupying it, before the door burst open with a loud clang.Maire recognized the two women immediately. Leliana and Cassandra. She knew how this talk would go. They would blame her for the explosion at the Conclave and threaten to kill her. Lovely first impressions all around.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead,” Cassandra walked a slow circle around Maire, “Except for you.”

“Wait, what?” Maire did her best to look shocked. Her best was pretty damn good.

Cassandra lifted her chained hands as the mark surged, “Explain. This.”

Maire shook her head, trying to clear it. She knew what happened from playing the game, but the experience itself was hazy.

“I... there was a woman. Chantry getup. Floatin’ above my head,” Maire closed her eyes, willing the scene to come back to her, “Somethin’– no. Someone was in front of her. He was holdin’ somethin’. It glowed like my hand. Then,” Maire opened her eyes again and looked up towards Cassandra, “that woman. She knocked it away from him. I picked it up. Then... nothin’. I don’t remember what happened after that.”

Cassandra scoffed, “You expect us to believe this outlandish tale?” She grabbed Maire by the collar, “You’re lying.”

Leliana pulled Cassandra away looking at her sternly, “We need her, Cassandra.”

“Look,” Maire pulled their attention back to her, “I’m just as confused as you are. One minute I’m goin’ about my normal, boring life and the next, I’m chained up in a dungeon with a glowin’ hand. I don’t know what’s happenin’ any more than you do.”

It was a blatant lie, but a necessary one. She could hardly tell them that they were part of a video game.

The two women shared a look.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

The woman in question nodded, and left with the soldiers in tow.

Cassandra turned back to Maire and started unlocking her cuffs, “Solas seems to think that mark of yours will close the rifts. We will need to put that to the test,” She tied a length of rope around Maire’s wrists and lead her outside.

The Breach had always been impressive, but Maire had never thought about how fucking terrifying it was. It looked like a tornado... albeit one that swirled with neon green magic and spat out demons.

“We call it ‘The Breach’,” She sounded almost reverent, “It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

_This world, maybe._

It was as if the Breach was punishing her for the thought, surging again and bringing Maire to her knees. She grimaced.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads... and it _is_ killing you,” Cassandra knelt in front of her, “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Maire sighed, glancing back at the hole in the sky, “None of this seems real. Don't get me wrong. Ill help. But I don't know how much I’ll be able to. I’m no fighter. But I’ll do whatever I can.”

Cassandra actually looked mildly impressed as she helped Maire stand. She led her by the arm through Haven, “They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead. We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

Cassandra turned, releasing Maire’s arm, “There will be a trial. I can promise no more,” She pulled out a knife and cut Maire’s bindings, “Come. It is not far.”

“Lead the way chief.”

 

* * *

 

They had just reached the bridge when the Breach surged again, pulling Maire down with painful force.

“The pulses are coming faster now.”

Maire would have laughed if she didn’t feel like her hand was bursting into flame, “You don’t say?”

Cassandra dutifully ignored the comment, helping her to her feet, “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

At that moment a green blast hit the bridge, and the rocks started to crumble. The women tumbled to the frozen river below, where a shade burst out of the ground. In the game, shades were slightly disturbing, but sort of just fell in with all the other baddies. Up close and personal? Maire could smell rotting flesh, and see bits of what looked like a corpse peaking out from under tattered cloth.

“Stay behind me!”

Maire didn’t need to be told twice. She had no training with any weapons, and every fiber of her being was telling her to get far away from that creature. She backed up, ready to jump behind a pile of rubble, when the ground before her opened and a shade popped up like a dead spring flower.

“Fuckin’ shite!” Maire scrambled away from the creature, but it was quicker than her. It caught her by the collar and lifted an arm to scratch down her form.

Maire acted on instinct, sticking her hand in the demon’s face. The result was instantaneous. The shade screeched, pulling both arms back to clutch its head, and dropping Maire. A sword pierced through the demon’s body, and it fell, dissolving into dust.

Maire was still on the ground, breathing heavy, when Cassandra pointed her sword at her, “What was that? Are you a mage?”

“What? No!” Maire shook her head, “I have no idea what that was.”

That might have been the first time she told the truth all day.

Cassandra sighed and sheathed her sword, “Perhaps I overreacted. If you have a way to protect yourself, you should use it. I cannot protect you.”

As they started down the path, Maire wracked her brain for a way to do just that. She searched her pockets. Her phone and keys had fallen out somewhere in the chaos, but she still had her pocket knife and her flask. She pulled the pocket knife out and flipped it open. The silver blade glinted strangely in the green light of the Breach.

It wouldn’t do much against demons and wraiths, but it was something. Maire surreptitiously took a sip of whisky. If ever there was a time for liquid courage, it was fighting demons in a real life video game.

Cassandra and Maire reached the rift just in time to help beat back the demons; Or rather, Cassandra did. Maire hid in the back with her pocket knife open and watched Solas and Varric fight. They'd always been her favorite characters. Seeing them in real life? Fighting demons with magic and a crossbow? That was something out of her wildest dreams.

When the demons were turning to dust in the snow, Maire jumped down and stepped closer to the rift.

“Quickly, before more come through!”

Solas grabbed her hand and shoved it into the rift. Maire cried out as the magic in her pulled towards the swirl of green, burning the edges of the mark with vigor. The rift snapped closed with a crack, and she yanked her hand back from Solas.

“Fuckin’ shite, that hurt! Warn a girl next time would ya," Maire rubbed the mark with her right hand, soothing the throbbing ache in her palm.

Solas was speechless, and Maire took more than a little pleasure in that fact.

“Wow. I didn't think it was possible to make Chuckles stop talking. I'm impressed," Varric turned to Maire, smirking, “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

“It's nice to meet you. I just wish I coulda known that before gettin’ my hand shoved up into a magic tear in the sky,“ Maire turned, looking pointedly at Solas.

The elf in question had regained his composure somewhat, “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’,“ Varric added.

Maire could have sworn she saw Solas smirking.

“Thank you for that. I mean it,” she turned to him, “But that doesn't change the fact that you just jammed unknown magic attached to my hand into unknown magic attached to the veil and didn't even stop to ask me first.”

Solas was at a loss for words once again, and Maire marked a mental tally in her column.

Of course, Maire knew who Solas was, and so knew that neither the mark nor the rift were unknown magic to him, but Solas didn't know that. She didn't intend on letting him find out either.

“Uh, Seeker? Do we have a plan here? Or are we just gonna throw her into the breach and hope it closes?”

“ _We_ don't have anything, Varric. You're help is appreciated, but–“

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your men aren't in control anymore. You need me,” Maire was pretty sure that smirking was Varric’s default expression by that point.

Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, before turning and stalking away with a disgusted noise.

“Let's hope we can close the breach without killing you in the process,” Solas glanced at Maire before turning to the Seeker, “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen.”

 _Oh, you fuckin’ liar._ Maire couldn’t help shaking her head.

Cassandra nodded, “Understood. We must get to the forward camp, quickly.”

Varric sauntered up behind Maire, “Well, Bianca’s excited!”

 

* * *

 

As Maire followed the three companions down the bank, she took the down time to examine her situation. She jumped through the rift at her parent’s grave, and found herself in the leading role of a video game. A video game with demons, magic, war, dragons, and ancient elven gods.

God, what did she get herself into?

Varric’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, “So... _are_ you innocent?”

“I didn’t mean to destroy the Conclave. I was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time,” Maire paused, “Or maybe the right place. I guess it depends on who you ask. Either way, I’m here now, and I want to help.”

Varric considered her for a moment, “Not a bad story. Not very believable, mind you. But not bad.”

Maire laughed – a short, breathy thing – and turned to the dwarf, “I’m so glad I have your mild acceptance, Varric.”

He grinned, “Not an easy thing to win, I assure you.”

They crested the hill, only to see another fade rift. Maire flipped her pocket knife open and stuck herself behind Cassandra until the demons fell.

“Hurry – use the mark!” Solas ordered.

Maire obliged, though somewhat hesitantly. She lifted her hand to the rift, and grimaced against the burn of magic. It snapped closed.

“The rift is gone. Open the gate,” Cassandra commanded the soldiers.

As they unlocked the gate, Solas addressed Maire, “We’re clear for the moment. Well done.”

Varric nodded, “Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful.”

Maire glanced at Solas, and back to Varric, “I might have an idea of what it is,” Solas’s head whipped up in Maire’s periphery, and she scored another mental tally in her column. “I can’t be sure, of course. But it feels... old. Ancient even.”

“That is entirely possible. But I believe for now, our focus should be on closing the Breach.”

“Yes. Leliana is up ahead,” Cassandra agreed.

Solas covered well. She had to give him that one.

A chantry-garbed man bickered with Leliana as the group approached, only stopping when he caught sight of them.

“Ah, here they come,” His tone was disdainful, if not outright hostile.

Leliana sighed in relief, “You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is–“

“I know who she–”

“All due respect, Chancellor, but you really don’t,” Every face within hearing range turned to Maire in shock, “My name is Maire Clare Cassidy. And I’m going to help you close the Breach.”

Chancellor Roderick glared at her, “Without the word of the Divine, you will do no such thing,” He turned his gaze to Leliana, “We must elect a replacement, and obey _her_ orders on the matter!”

“Are you seriously suggesting an election? Now?” Maire raised an eyebrow, “There’s a giant green hole in the sky and you wanna wait to do something about it?”

The Chancellor whirled on her, “ _You_ brought this on us in the first place!” he sighed, “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“No it’s not,” all eyes once again turned to Maire, “All we have to do is get me to the Breach, right? Once I’m there I’ll try to close it. The only question now is, how to get to there without me dyin’ in the process.”

Cassandra nodded, “We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route.”

Leliana shook her head, “But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky,” Cassandra countered.

“Listen to me,” Roderick pleaded, “Abandon this now before more lives are lost!”

It was as if the Chancellor had taunted the sky into proving his point. The ground shook as the Breach expanded once again. Maire doubled over, a pained sob ripping from her chest.

She huffed, “Look. I don’t think I’d make it through a sustained charge with the state I’m in. The only way I see myself makin’ it to the Breach alive, is through the mountain path.”

 

* * *

 

Maire grunted as she closed another rift. It still hurt, but the pain was becoming somewhat familiar to her. She examined the mark. It was strange and foreign, but also warm, almost – comforting.

Solas sidled up next to her, “Sealed. As before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric shot a glance toward the sky.

A series of ladders and stairs later, the group finally reached the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Maire took in the view. She wasn’t going to get over the wonderment of her situation anytime soon. Exploring a place like this in a video game was nothing. But actually standing there, being able to touch the spikes of black rock shooting out from the Breach, and feel the rough surface below her fingertips; it was unlike anything she would have dreamed.

The brightness in Maire’s chest died almost as soon as it appeared. Scattered around the temple were corpses, burned to a crisp and frozen in their final positions. She felt her stomach heave and closed her eyes, narrowly avoiding vomiting. She hadn’t really thought about the horror of Thedas before. Yes, it was a dark world on the verge of collapse, but that doesn’t really hit you until you’re staring a charred corpse in the face and nobody else seems bothered.

The group worked their way to the center of the temple, Maire pointedly keeping her head down. Leliana appeared, with her men in tow, and set them up around the perimeter. Cassandra turned to Maire.

“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

Maire snorted, “It doesn’t really matter if I’m ready or not, does it?” She steeled herself, “This has to be done now and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.”

Corypheus’s voice echoed through the air, repeating his last words before the explosion. As the group jumped to the ground, a vision appeared. The Divine, floating like before, calling for help. Then a rift opens, and through it falls Maire.

Cassandra’s head snapped to Maire, “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine... is she–”

“I already told you everything I remembered, Cassandra! We can figure all that out once the Breach is under control!” Maire spoke fiercely, a command in her voice.

Solas studied the rift, “Echoes of what happened here. The fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not sealed, but it is closed... albeit temporarily.”

“So I should be able to open it, right?” Maire turned to him, “And seal it for good?”

Solas nodded, “I believe so, yes. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons! Stand ready!” Cassandra called out.

Maire approached the rift. She knew what was going to pop out of it. A giant fucking pride demon. _There’s no way I’m gonna survive this._ She took a deep breath and held her hand to the rift.

 

* * *

 

Pride demons were _tall_. Its horns alone were Maire’s height plus some.

Maire scurried away from the beast, tucking her utterly useless pocket knife back in her coat. Thick, rocky armor covered the demon's form, and her knife wouldn’t get halfway through a finger before snapping in half.

“Pull it away from the rift! I may be able to knock it out if I disrupt it!” Maire shouted over the din.

At first it seemed like no one heard her, but then Cassandra started taunting the beast back towards the wall. Maire had to move fast. If this didn’t work, then all the ground fighters would be trapped in a corner.

She vaulted over a piece of rubble to reach the rift. It pulsed and pulled, harder than she’d felt before. A scream ripped out of her throat, as searing pain throbbed in her palm. The rift released with a bang, and the pride demon was on its knees. Maire watched through a haze as Cassandra jumped onto its shoulders and stabbed it in the neck. It roared a death rattle, and the rift burst again above Maire’s head.

With a tremendous effort, she stood, and lifted her hand. It felt as if her very soul was being sucked out of her body. The agonizing pain made way for an all too familiar emptiness.

_Who the fuck created such fuckin’ painful magic?_

A stupidly obvious realization hit her as the darkness took hold.

_I'm gonna fuckin’ punch Solas._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!
> 
> If you notice any grammatical errors don't hesitate to let me know. I won't be offended :)


	3. Kirkwall - 9:35 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: If you read the last chapter before 9/2/17 then please go reread it! I added another chapter into it because I felt like it was too short.
> 
> Edit: I changed Varric's nickname for Harillin from Pretty to Cub.
> 
> Harillin: hair-ill-in (Means Little Rebel in Elvish)
> 
>  
> 
> Also - this chapter is where that graphic depiction warning comes into play. You have been warned.

A dark shape shot across the rooftops of Kirkwall, heading for Hightown. If Varric hadn’t known to be looking for the “Noble’s Bane”, he would never had seen her. The lithe woman moved with practiced grace. Her distinctive curly hair was tucked inside her hood, and a simple, black masquerade mask covered the scars around her eyes.

She silently dropped onto the balcony of the Loupe estate. The Loupe’s were not only disgustingly rich, but had used that wealth to bribe members of the City Guard. Though Aveline probably wouldn’t have approved, Varric quietly suggested to Harillin that the Loupe’s were a particularly good mark.

Harillin Roth was a thief, though she preferred to think of herself as a sort of vigilante, helping the citizens who were down on their luck. She was very good at what she did. On a normal hit, she was in and out of a house, with a small fortune, in less than ten minutes.

The Loupe job didn’t turn out to be normal.

When Harillin entered the Loupe estate, she felt immediately on-edge. There was a wrongness about it. It was sort of like being in a room where you know a murder took place. It felt scratchy and uncomfortable on the back of her neck.

Harillin proceeded cautiously through the modestly sized bedroom. The last thing she needed was to get into a fight that had the City Guards come running. She pressed an ear to the door.

There was a faint ringing in the air, almost like a song. It called to her, pulling her through the door and down into the depths of the house. She followed the sound, her normally silent feet padding on the smooth wood. She knew something was wrong, but it was as if a fog had settled around her mind. It calmed her. Cradled her. Somewhere inside her a voice was screaming her name, pleading for her to just snap out of it. But the haze forcefully held it back.

She trailed her way into the dark cellar, following the sounds of indignant yelling.

Harillin felt a wave of nausea wash over her as the spell broke.

On the cool dirt of the cellar floor was a body. A young girl’s body. She was wearing blue silk pajamas, and hugging a stuffed nug. Above her stood a woman, covered in blood. She stared through Harillin, eyes cold and glassy.

“Give it to me! I need it!” A man thrashed against rope bindings behind the woman. “You are not worthy! Give it to me, NOW!” He screamed.

The woman didn’t react. She didn’t even blink.

Harillin pointedly ignored the figure on the floor and moved around the room to the blood-soaked woman, “What happened?”

Black hair fell to the side as she turned her unseeing eyes on Harillin, “The idol. It told me what to do. I needed to plant it. In someone young.”

Harillin blanched, “Plant it? What do you mean plant it?”

“The red stone. It sings. Can’t you hear it? It wants to grow.”

Harillin steeled herself and glanced at the small body. Red crystals were poking through the child’s neck and stomach. She felt the nausea come back and choked down bile.

“I had to do it. I had to make the idol happy. It has to be happy.”

She couldn’t listen anymore. In one swift movement she drew her dagger and buried it in the woman’s heart.

“She’s gone! Good! Now give me the idol! She didn’t deser–”

The man crumpled, his throat gushing blood.

The body of the girl was dangerous, that much Harillin knew. She wanted to give her a proper burial, but the red crystals were an unknown and she didn’t want to risk touching them. Harillin sighed, pulling her flint out of her pocket. Striking it on the edge of her dagger, she lit the three bodies on fire.

She tasted the bile in the back of her throat. If she had gotten there sooner, she might have been able to save her. Reflected flames danced in her eyes. _I should pray._ But Harillin didn't know any prayers. So she said the only thing that came to mind.

“I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 

When Harillin reached the Hanged Man that night she downed two ales before even stepping into Varric’s room.

“Woah. You look like you've seen a ghost. What happened to you, Cub?” Varric jumped from his chair to lead Harillin into one of her own, “And how much have you had to drink? I didn’t even think you got drunk.”

Harillin collapsed into the chair and put her head in her hands.

“She killed her own daughter, Varric.”

“Shit.”

“I couldn’t save her. I got there too late. She was just a kid! She had blue pajamas and a stuffed nug and she now she's dead because I didn't get there in time,” Tears threatened, blurring the edges of her vision.

“Aww, Cub,” Varric reached a hand around Harillin’s shoulders in a hug, “I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face into his chest as ugly sobs wrenched out of her.

“It’s gonna be alright. There, there,” Varric soothed, rubbing circles on her back.

“I can’t -hic- tell my parents,” Harillin took a shaky breath, “They face enough. They don’t need to know about this.”

Varric pulled back, holding her by the shoulders, “Just stay here tonight. I’ll go crash at Hawke’s and Daisy’ll tell your parents you’re safe. It’s gonna be okay.”

She started to protest but Varric cut her off.

“Just make sure you lock the door when I leave, Cub.”

Harillin nodded distantly, and Varric left the room.

 

* * *

 

 

She dreamt of red crystals.

They were impossible to outrun. She shot through the cave, twisting and turning, but the crystals were always one step ahead. They surrounded her, closing in on all sides. The singing pierced into her mind and she ran recklessly. She didn’t see the cliff until she was falling over the edge.

Her heart jumped to her throat, beating so fast she feared it would explode. It was a quick fall, and the water was painful when she hit it, but not so painful as hard rock would have been. It entered her nose and burned the corners of her eyes as she fought to break through to the surface. Something was dragging her down, pulling her leg and forcing her eyes open. The water was so red she could barely see the crystal crawling up her leg. She kicked at it, willing to shatter, but the insidious rock tugged at her, forcefully dragging her into the depths.

Harillin’s lungs burned, screaming for air. Just as she thought she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she burst through the underside of the red lake. Bloody water danced and rolled above her. She tore her eyes from it and felt her heart skip a beat.

Six figures stood in a semicircle in front of her. Varric, Aveline, Merill, Hawke, and her parents. They each had red crystals sprouting out of their feet and climbing up their forms. Harillin fought against the stone anchoring her to the ground, straining with the effort. She felt her own body start to freeze as the crystal creeped up her legs.

“No! Move! Don’t let it take you!” Harillin wailed as she watched her loved ones be speared by grotesque spikes of bloody rock. Their faces twisted in obvious agony, and Harillin screamed herself hoarse. She couldn’t save them. She was helpless.

Absolutely helpless.

 

* * *

 

When Varric entered the Hanged Man that morning, Harillin was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than I want but later chapters will get longer, I promise.
> 
> ALSO! If you have any suggestions for Varric's nickname for Maire please comment! Right now I have it as 'Braids' because her hair is almost always in a braid of some sort, but I'm not completely sold on it.


	4. Creation and Anxiety

Solas wasn’t sure what to make of the Herald. She wore strange clothes, had a strange accent, and spoke as if she knew something about him. It was... disconcerting, to say the least. 

He sat by her bedside, examining the mark.  _ His _ mark. Whether he liked it or not, Maire had a piece of his magic inside her and they were intrinsically tied together.

Her face scrunched as he studied her and she took a harsh breath. She appeared to be having a nightmare. Solas ran a thumb absentmindedly across her palm until her features relaxed. 

There was something oddly innocent about her. She spoke so brashly to him at the rift, but something felt off, and looking at her face now, Solas knew that she was faking her earlier confidence. One can't lie while asleep. That was a lesson he learned the hard way. 

Insecurity hid underneath her bravado, he was sure of it. The thought was not the comfort he hoped it would be. 

Solas stood. Maire was stable for now. It was only curiosity that kept him in her cabin that morning. When she woke, he would have to figure out how much she knew. His mind would be ill at ease in the meantime.

 

* * *

 

It felt like all Maire had done lately, was wake up in pain. Her neck was sticky with sweat, her hair having been pulled out of it’s braid. The mark thrummed with energy, tingling the palm of her hand. It still hurt, but the pain had diminished greatly since she closed the last rift. 

She groaned, pushing herself to sit up with closed eyes.

A gasp and a crash pulled them open. 

“I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” A small elven servant was standing in front of her, the box she was carrying open on the floor.

Maire took in the trembling figure before her, “Calm down and take a breath. You’ve done nothin’ wrong.”

The elf dropped to her knees and bowed her head, “I beg your forgiveness–” 

“Stop. Stop talkin’ and look at me,” Maire waited until the elf complied nervously, “Now, how long was I unconscious?”

“Th- three days, milady.”

“Huh. That’s actually not too bad. You... go take a walk or somethin’. You look like you need to clear your head,” Maire was honestly worried the poor girl would pass out.

The woman shook her head, “I have to go tell Lady Cassandra you’ve awoken. ‘At once’ she said.”

“Then... take a walk after that.”

She bowed before scurrying out of the room, presumably to tell all of Haven their Herald was awake.

Maire’s hands went to her hair unbidden, and started tying thin braids from the front of her head to the back. By the time she was done, a third of her hair was lying in complicated patterns on her scalp, the rest hanging loosely underneath. A simple leather adventurer’s coat sat at the end of her bed. She felt the material, marveling at how soft and supple it was. Pulling the coat over her t-shirt and jeans, Maire found it fit her figure perfectly. Strange, considering she had never worn clothes like it before.

Absentmindedly, she fingered the pendant around her neck. At least they hadn't taken that off her. When her parents died, she chose a piece of jewelry from each of them to wear always. From her father, a pendant on a simple silver chain. From her mother, her engagement ring. 

The pendant was a thin, silver oval. Two delicate branches of leaves were inscribed on its face. They crossed from the bottom and continued around the sides. It looked like a crest of some sort. 

The ring was relatively simple. Celtic knots wove around it to meet in the center in two triquetras. An oval-shaped emerald sat between the knots. It was her mother's birthstone. 

She discovered her flask and pocket knife sitting on the desk. Experimentally, she unscrewed the top of the flask. It was still filled almost to the top with good Irish whiskey.  _ Thank God _ . She wasn’t sure what they drank in Thedas, but she knew it wasn’t Jameson’s.

 

* * *

 

The weight of eyes on her was almost tangible. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the ‘Herald of Andraste’. It didn’t really matter if she wanted to be glimpsed or not. By the time she reached the Chantry, Maire was starting to get an annoying itch between her shoulder blades.

The inside of the building, however, was almost uncomfortably empty.  _ Aren’t Chantries supposed to be lively? _ The sound of arguments drifted from the back room. 

_ Ah. There’s the life. _

Maire entered the war room and was immediately accosted by Chancellor Roderick.

“Chain her. I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Cassandra scowled, “Disregard that, and leave us.”

It was obvious who the templars respected. They left the room without question.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“Ugh, just shut up,” Maire was generally a patient person, but Chancellor Roderick grated on her nerves in a way she couldn’t ignore, “Chancellor, you have no authority here. I suggest you take a good, long look at your priorities. If, after that, you still do not perceive the Breach as the greatest threat to Thedas,” She sharpened her glare, “I say you can go to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and fight the demons for yourself.”

Leliana bit back a snort.

“Though not exactly how I would have put it, she is right,” Cassandra sent an approving look towards Maire.

Leliana regained her composure, “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.”

Understanding washed over the Chancellor’s face, “ _ I _ am a suspect?”

“You,” Leliana growled, “And many others.”

He was incredulous, “So her survival, that  _ thing _ on her hand – all a coincidence?”

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour,” Cassandra spoke with such conviction, Maire almost believed it.

Almost.

“Whether it was providence, or coincidence, it doesn’t really matter. I want to help. That should be enough,” she held the Chancellor’s gaze.

Cassandra dropped a thick book on the table. The cover held the silver-plated insignia of the Inquisition, “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn,” She stalked toward Chancellor Roderick, “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

 

* * *

 

And so, with the Inquisition formed, Maire was free to explore Haven.

The town was much like it was in the game. Sparse and cold, but comfortable. It was a relief to be free to wander as she chose, she made her way to the top of the hill near the old alchemist’s house. Secluded and quiet, it was the perfect place for Maire to get her bearings. 

Solas watched Maire slip out of camp and into the hills. He was still wary of her. Maybe he should follow? He paused for a moment, mulling it over. She obviously knew something of him. That made her a threat to his goal. He must make sure his plan was not compromised. 

Solas told himself he had to follow, pushing down any thoughts to the contrary. 

He tracked her footsteps to the outskirts, and found her sitting at the top of a hill, slumped over her knees and frowning. She looked exhausted. Solas was surprised he hadn’t noticed before just how tired she looked.

Maire let the optimistic mask fade from her face and hugged her knees to her chest. It was exhausting pretending to be leader material. She was a good actress and a good liar, but living as someone so different from herself? That was a new level of difficulty. 

As much as part of her hated him, she knew she could never truly hate Solas. And her two days of pretending gave her a healthy respect for his acting abilities. 

She gasped in realization, eyes watering. Solas. What was she going to do about Solas? He was the Dread Wolf. He was Fen’Harel. On its own, that would be fine– weird, but fine. But his plan to tear down the veil... it would utterly destroy Thedas. 

She couldn’t let that happen. Even if she had to kill Solas to do it. 

Her heart broke at the thought. 

He may have been just a character in a video game, but she really truly grew to love Solas. Even if he didn’t know who she really was, even if he grew to hate the real her, she would always love him. Just a little bit. 

Solas saw pain evident on her face, as she stared at nothing. He felt a tightening in his chest. She was hurting. Badly. And no one seemed to notice. Even  _ he _ hadn’t noticed until she was alone.

Maire groaned into her knees, “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I’m not gonna be able to stop ‘im. I’m not gonna be able to do anythin’. What am I playing at? I can’t even protect myself, let alone all of Thedas! I should never have gone through that rift. I should never have become the Herald.”

Maire’s brogue thickened as she berated herself. She sighed, falling back to look at the sky.

Solas sat, pressing his back against the cliff wall. He was intruding. He knew that now. The thought burned through the back of his skull, sending a wave of embarrassment down his frame.

He was so caught up in his own shame that he almost missed the whisper.

“I don’t belong here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! I love reading comments.


	5. Kirkwall - 9:36 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm posting two chapters today. Cause I'm really excited for you guys to read more of this.

Merle Roth was a human apostate. He hid his abilities under the guise of medical care, taking in anyone who needed it. 

Iowyn Lavellan-Roth was an elven herbalist. She used her extensive knowledge of plants and herbs to create powerful tonics and poultices for a number of ailments.

Often times, the Roth home became a clinic of sorts. It worked in tandem with Anders’ clinic in Darktown, and acted as its slightly more accessible branch in Lowtown. If anyone was in seriously bad shape, they would be smuggled to Anders. Merle was an accomplished healer, but Anders was better at treating life-threatening injuries.

That was just how it was. Harillin was used to the chaos of running an in-home clinic. It’d been that way since she was a young child. It seemed people didn’t care about a Dalish elf and human apostate being lovers if they needed medical treatment. A fair amount of people were nicer to the Roth’s because of it, but most of their patients went straight back to cruelty and judgement as soon as they were healed.

The hypocrisy was not lost on Harillin.

It had been a relatively normal day. Iowyn and Merle flitted about their home, helping people with everything from rashes to minor stab wounds. Harillin was washing bandages when there was a loud banging from the front of the house. She assumed it was another patient and hurried to open the door. 

She was shoved backwards as a group of templars stormed in, slamming her head against the wall. The templars went immediately to Merle. They flooded the room with a magic purge and grabbed Harillin’s father by the arms.

“No! Father!” Harillin struggled to her feet and charged at the nearest templar. The blonde man fell with a crash of armor and Harillin rolled to a stand, rounding on the ones holding her father. 

“Knight-Captain!”

“Let him go, NOW!” She didn’t give them a chance to respond before she was upon them, pulling out her daggers and slamming the hilts into their helmets. Her arms moved of their own accord and she saw red. They had dared to come into her house. They had dared to come after her father. 

They would not take him.

She was blinded in her rage, and didn’t realize the first templar had gotten back up until she was tackled to the ground. The man they called Knight-Captain pinned her arms behind her back. She struggled against his hold, but in a battle of pure strength, Harillin could not win.

“Stay down!” he barked at her then turned to the others, “Templars! Take the apostate to the Gallows!”

There was a chorus of yes-sir’s and a clanging of armor before the room was silent. Harillin was still pinned to the floor, and she roared, “Let me go, you evil bastard!”

The templar’s hold on her tightened, “Do not force my hand. I do not wish to harm your family, only to keep Kirkwall safe.”

“The only way Kirkwall will be safe is if all of you templar zealots go die!” Harillin growled.

The man didn’t respond, and Harillin barely had a moment to question that before something hard struck her temple.

 

* * *

 

When Harillin woke, she was in her bed. She would have believed everything with the templars was a nightmare, but a throbbing headache proved its reality. She forced herself to sit up, groaning as her head pounded, and swung her legs over the side of her bed.

“Sweetheart.”

Harillin looked up. Her mother was standing in the doorway, a metal teacup in her hand.

“I brought you some tea,” Iowyn’s voice was quiet as she moved to sit on the bed next to her daughter, “It should help you with that headache.”

Harillin took it gratefully, grimacing as she took a sip, “You know I hate elfroot. It’s bitter.”

Iowyn smiled, “I know.”

“How can you be so calm? Father was taken to the Gallows. You know how cruel Knight-Commander Meredith is. She’ll probably make him tranquil!” Harillin choked on the word, bursting into tears. The teacup tumbled to the floor.

“Oh, sweetheart. We knew this would happen, one day,” Iowyn held her daughter, rocking her gently, “Your father accepted it a long, long time ago.”

“But I didn’t! He hasn’t done anything wrong! All he did was help people!”

“I know, da’len. I know,” Harillin sobbed as her mother stroked her back.

It was a long time before either woman was willing to let go, and Harillin knew it would be even longer before she stopped feeling like her heart was breaking in two. 

 

* * *

 

It was only a day later when Varric visited the Roth household. Iowyn was outside the city walls, gathering herbs, so the clinic was empty for once. He walked into the back room to see Harillin sorting her “Noble’s Bane” supplies and sharpening her daggers. There was a familiar set to her mouth, and Varric knew she was planning something stupid.

“What are you doing, Harillin?” Varric was seriously concerned, that much was obvious. He only ever called her by her name when he was angry. Or worried. Or both.

“Don’t ‘Harillin’ me, Varric. I’m going to save my father from the Gallows and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop me,” Harillin’s tone was harsh and short.

Varric grabbed her by the arm, “You’re gonna get yourself killed, Harillin. You know your father wouldn’t want that.”

She shook him off forcefully, “Damn what anyone wants. All my father did was help people! He did exactly what Anders does, but is that abomination in the Gallows? No. Someone decided to turn my father in because he was the one with the elf-blooded criminal for a daughter!”

Varric’s stare hardened, “Stop it! You’re not thinking this through! If Meredith finds you trying to break a mage out of the Circle she’ll kill you, and your father, and probably your mother too!”

“Then let her! I would rather go down fighting than sit idly by while she turns my father tranquil!”

That shocked him into silence, and Harillin continued in a low voice.

“He’s my father, Varric. I can’t let this go. You  _ must _ realize that.”

Varric sighed, shaking his head, “You are just as much of a force of nature as Marian,” he almost smiled, “And just as hot-headed. I don’t blame you for wanting to do this, Cub. But you have to realize this is a suicide mission. If you get yourself killed, who’s going to watch out for your mother?”

Harillin took a ragged breath, “I was hoping you would.”

Varric started, “Me? But, Cub–”

“Please. Promise me you’ll look out for her if I don’t come back,” she pleaded with him, eyes boring deep into his.

“I–”

“ _ Please _ , Varric.”

He sighed, “Fine. I promise. But you better not die on me, alright? I don’t know if I can lose any more friends.” 

Harillin breathed a sigh of relief and captured Varric in a hug, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

It was dark when Harillin smuggled herself into the Gallows. She had a basic idea of the layout, having been in the suffocating place before with Hawke. She was fairly certain her father would be in the west wing of the secondary courtyard with the other mages. 

Harillin scaled the walls. Normally, she would have used her daggers as hand holds, but the Gallow’s walls were smooth stone. Instead, she pulled something out of her knapsack. It was a crossbow of sorts. Varric had called in a few favors to help her perfect it. The projectile was a hooked piece of metal connected to a long, sturdy rope. She’d only used the Grappling Bow once before for an actual job. It had worked like a charm and became a constant in her gear. 

She lined up a shot at the small crenel on the side of the outer wall, and pulled the trigger. The hook flew through the air, hitting stone with a crack. She pulled the rope taut and tugged experimentally. From what she could tell, the hook was wedged between the merlons and holding strong. She tucked the crossbow back into her knapsack and started scaling the wall.

Harillin climbed quickly, trusting her full weight to the grip of her shoes and the hold of the rope. She was about halfway up the wall when she heard armored boots marching atop the stone. They were getting steadily louder. She mumbled a curse under her breath and swung. 

Using the hook as a focal point, she ran along the side of the wall back and forth. She used her body weight to her advantage, gaining momentum until she was high enough to grab the top of the wall. The rope slipped from her grasp, thumping softly as it tapped the stone repeatedly. 

She pulled herself up, holding onto one of the many golden spikes protruding from the facade, and glanced toward her grappling hook. A templar knight was standing farther down, searching for the source of the sound. Harillin grimaced. She would have to knock him out. If he found the hook and sounded the alarm she’d never be able to get her father out.

She stuck to the shadows, inching her way to the man and silently pulling a bottle out of her bag. Somehow, she had to get his helmet off to make him smell the herbal mixture. Her mother used the blend of spindleweed, vandal aria, ghoul’s beard and rashvine nettle as a sedative. When a patient was in danger of hurting themselves in pain or madness, she would wave a bottle of the stuff underneath their nose until they were asleep.  Harillin had experimented to create a stronger blend. Hers was capable of knocking someone out in less than five seconds. All she had to do, was make them smell it.

The templar was oblivious to her presence as she snuck up behind him. She jumped, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to the ground. Her legs pinned him in place as one hand pulled his helmet off and the other stuck the sleeper under his nose. He struggled at first, but then his movements became slow and sluggish. She released her hold on him when his eyes closed, head lolling to the side.

After retrieving her hook and cautiously recapping the sleeper bottle, she started towards the secondary courtyard. Harillin made her way across the top of the walls as quickly as she dared, shifting to hang down by her hands when a templar came too close. Eventually, she reached her destination.

The walls here were more manageable. Though they were the same smooth stone as before, they were decorated with shallow shelves, spikes, and windows, giving her plenty of hand holds. She worked her way down, dropping to the ground with little more than a whisper, and slipped into the west wing hallway.

Stone pillars lined either side of the corridor and between each sat a door. They led to the mages’ sleeping quarters, that she knew. What she didn’t know was which one her father would be in. She resolved to check each room, quietly as to not wake anyone and alert the templars to her presence.

Before she could open the first door, however, she heard a door slam and the clink of armor. It was coming from the hallway beyond hers. Harillin darted through the door closest to her, keeping it open only a sliver. She needed to see what was happening. 

A group of four templars came through the door marched down the corridor. A mage was between them, iron cuffs strapped to his wrists. Harillin recognized the bearded man instantly. They were taking her father somewhere!

It took every ounce of resistance Harillin had not to jump the templars and fight them right then and there. She watched through gritted teeth as they exited via the door she came in through, letting it slam behind them. Harillin quietly worked her way back to the courtyard, crouching behind spiked railing.

She watched as her father was led through another door, then another, following behind the group. 

Eventually, they reached a huge, empty room full of iron bars and open to the sky. In the middle of the room, stood none other than Knight-Commander Meredith. At her command the templars shoved Merle to his knees in front of her. Harillin crouched behind a pillar, watching the Knight-Commander wearily.

“Merle Roth. You have been found guilty of using magic on unsuspecting citizens of Kirkwall. For this offense, you will be made tranquil.”

“No!” Harillin bounded towards Meredith. She was moving too fast to stop herself when the shield appeared in front of her. Her ears rang as she fell and was subsequently jerked to her feet. The templar who had downed her held her arms roughly behind her back.

Meredith glared at Harillin, “An intruder! Kill her–”

“No! Please!” Merle begged, “I will submit to the Rite without resistance. Just, please don’t kill her. She’s my daughter.”

“Father–”

“No, Harillin. Let this go. Let me go. You’re mother needs you, now more than ever,” his hard stare brooked no room for argument and there were hot tears in Harillin’s eyes as she hung her head.

Meredith looked between the two with idle curiosity, considering, “Very well. I believe watching her father undergo the Rite of Tranquility will be punishment enough for trespassing. Hold her head up. I want her to see this.”

The templar restraining Harillin yanked her by the hair, forcing her to watch.

Meredith was unnervingly calm as she took the hot lyrium brand from the templar next to her. She inspected it, and pressed the red sunburst onto Merle’s forehead. He screamed in agony, then slumped to the ground.

“Get up.”

Merle obeyed the command without even a wince. The Knight-Commander smiled, taking cruel pleasure in his obedience, “Do you have anything to say to your daughter before we send her back to the alienage where she belongs?”

Harillin tensed as her father turned to her, “I am sorry if I have caused you pain. Please, forgive my transgression.”

He was monotone. Empty. The man in front of her may have looked like her father, but he was not. Harillin stared at nothing as the templar holding her pulled her to the water’s edge and shoved her onto a boat. 

She barely noticed when they reached the docks. Everything seemed like it was out of focus. Like a fog was obscuring her vision. It was only after the templar ferryman yelled at her to move that she stepped off the boat. She walked mechanically, each step heavier than the last. 

Harillin didn’t know where she was heading, and honestly she didn’t care. Her father was a beacon of light in an otherwise dark city. Now that light was gone, and the city felt darker than it ever had before. 

It was no surprise when she found herself at the Hanged Man, making her way to Varric’s room. The dwarf in question jumped when she slammed the door, sliding to the wood with her back pressed against it.

“Cub? Harillin? What happened?” He was cautious as he approached her.

Her eyes were glazed and unseeing, “Tranquil. She made him tranquil. She made me watch.”

“Cub...“ Varric stood in stunned silence, unsure of how to comfort her through something like that.

Harillin felt the tears slide down her cheeks, and took in a ragged breath. It hadn’t felt real until she said it out loud. She hugged her knees to her chest, dropping her head.

He settled in next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, shaking. Varric felt a slow rage build in his chest. Not only did Meredith make a man who’d done nothing but heal and help in his life tranquil, but she had hurt his Cub in doing it.

Hawke was going to hear about this. And Meredith was going to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments are always welcome! And by that I mean they are my lifeblood and please let me live.


	6. Memory and Constellations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of talk about depression in it. But so will pretty much this whole fanfic, so if you think that's a problem you should probably avoid this story.

Mages. Templars. Mages. Templars. 

Does no one in Thedas appreciate the middle road? Compromise?

The war council argued for what seemed like forever. Eventually an agreement of sorts was reached. The Inquisition had to extend its reach and influence. Leliana suggested visiting Mother Giselle, a Chantry cleric who wished to speak to the Herald. After Maire agreed, her agents were sent to scout the Hinterlands. It would take at least a few days for their missive to arrive.

In the meantime, Varric’s fire seemed rather welcoming.

He glanced up at her approach, “So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“Honestly? It’s surreal. My old life was so different from this. I keep having to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreamin’.”

“Surreal is an understatement, “ Varric sat next to fire, waving for Maire to join him, “Speaking of your old life, where exactly did you come from? I mean, we all saw you fall out of a rift next to the Divine. And again after the Conclave exploded.”

Maire stared into the fire, “Nowhere special, but very far away. I was visitin’ my parents’ grave when a rift opened in front of me. I could hear the Divine, callin’ for help. So I jumped through it, and ended up here.”

Varric drank in the story, “What was it called? Your home?”

She chuckled, “Depends on which home you mean. There was Cork, Ireland. I lived there til I was five. Then we moved to America. Lived in Chicago.”

“I’ve... never heard of those places,” his brow wrinkled.

“Like I said. Very far away.”

“Huh. Well, what was it like there? Anything like Kirkwall?”

Maire chuckled again, “Kind of. Chicago is a city. It’s probably ten times the size of Kirkwall though. Maybe more.”

Varric was incredulous, “ _ Ten _ times? Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

She grinned, “I’m not! I swear! Cork was smaller. A lot smaller. Probably about Kirkwall’s size now that I think about it.”

He shook his head, “I have a feeling things are never gonna get dull with you around.”

“Probably,” Maire smirked.

 

* * *

 

 

Maire was bored. 

She had grown up in a world where entertainment was at her fingertips. Now she was stuck in one devoid of tv and video games. It was just like camping, and camping had never been her idea of fun

Maire flopped into the snow at Varric’s feet and pouted.

“What’s wrong, Braids?” he tried not to smile at her petulant expression

She lifted her head a fraction, “Braids?”

Varric shrugged, “You always have braids in your hair. I’m just testing it out. I don’t particularly want to call you Herald, and I have a feeling you wouldn’t like that either.”

Maire’s nose scrunched in distaste, “Yeah, no. That’s weird. Braids is better. Though you could just call me Maire. Or Clare. Or Cassidy to be honest.”

“Ehh...” He considered it, “We’ll have to see if Braids stands the test of time first.”

“I can live with that.”

Varric settled in next to her, “But really, what’s bothering you?”

The image of sincere horror plastered on Maire’s face nearly made Varric bust out laughing, “The boredom. It’s endless.”

Varric did laugh then – a hearty, full-bellied thing, “You mean the peace and quiet? The calm serenity of having nothing to do?”

Maire shot him a sour look.

“Yeah, I hate it too. You just gotta find something you enjoy, and stick with it.”

“I already know what I enjoy, and it doesn’t exist here,” Maire mumbled.

His eyebrows pinched, “What? It doesn’t exist?”

“Varric, the place I come from is very different from Thedas. You already know that.”

“Well, yeah but...” he waved a hand dismissively, “Ah, forget it.”

Maire stared up at the dusky sky, and thought about what she enjoyed. She liked stories with happy endings. She liked the stars on a cool, clear night. She liked the music that pulled her back through time, to a place where she felt happy. 

“What is that?”

“Hmm?”

“That,” Varric gestured to where Maire had been fingering her necklace. 

She propped herself up on a hand, pulling the pendant into her view with the other, “Oh. This was my father’s. I kept it when he died.”

Varric squinted at the impression on the metal, “That crest... It looks familiar.”

Maire laughed, “I don't know why it would. I'm not from Thedas. There's no reason my dad would have somethin’ with a Thedosian crest on it.”

“Yeah, I know. But it still looks familiar.”

Maire rolled her eyes, dropping her hand to the snow. She let her mind wander. Maybe Varric was onto something. Her father had always been reluctant to talk about his past. Maire knew he took her mother's name, but she didn't know what his name had been before that. Maire shook her head. Her father was a normal person from Earth. Honestly, Maire still wasn't entirely convinced she was actually  _ in _ Thedas, and wasn't just having some sort of absurdly vivid fever-dream. 

She stared into the flames and started to hum. A light, but haunting melody she knew all too well. 

At Varric’s curious stare she stopped, “Memory. The song is called Memory,” She smiled. That song always brought back good feelings.

That's why Maire blinked in surprise when she felt the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She stared at the snow. Songs.  _ Music _ . 

“You okay, Braids?”

“No... I’m not,” Maire’s mask was breaking, she could feel it. She scrambled to her feet and practically sprinted to her cabin, slamming the door behind her and pointedly ignoring Varric’s concerned shouting.

She hadn’t thought about it before, but if she never got home she’d never hear that music again. Not really. There were so many songs in her head, and now she had to rely on her memory alone to hear them. Music had always been the thing she drowned herself in when she couldn’t face the world. The idea of not having it there... it broke her.

Maire didn’t sleep. She spent the rest of the night on the floor of her cabin, quietly humming and staring at nothing.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Varric kept a concerned eye on Maire. Something was wrong. And she wasn’t telling anyone. Whenever someone would come into her view, she would plaster a fake smile on, holding herself in just the right way so that her exhaustion wasn’t visible. She laughed with her whole face when she was supposed to, and if they weren’t looking for it, no one would notice the hard line of tension behind it. But Varric was looking for it. 

When Maire thought she was alone, she changed. The smile would fade from her face, her stride turning sluggish and her posture going slack. More than once she ran a hand through her hair, practiced fingers redoing the braids. She stared into space, the circles under her eyes darkening.

Originally, Varric had thought her smile was genuine. It lit up the space around her, eyes shining brighter than the Breach. Now? He could see it for the lie it was. As bright Maire’s demeanor appeared, there was an old pain hiding just underneath the surface.

Maire stood at the edge of camp, looking out over the frozen lake below and hugging her arms to herself.

“Hey Braids.”

Maire jumped when she heard Varric behind her, and switched seamlessly from melancholy to surprise, “Varric! I didn’t hear you approach,” her heart pounded in her ears. Had he seen her without the mask? Did he know she was a fraud?

He looked into her eyes, frowning.

“Varric..?” her mouth twisted in confusion, hiding the panic sweeping through her brain.  _ Shit. Shit. Shit. _

After a long pause, he spoke, “Are you okay, Braids?”

_ Shit!  _ Maire cocked her head, not letting her alarm cloud her view, “I’m fine! Why would you think–”

“No,” his eyes narrowed, “Try again, and this time don’t lie to me.”

She couldn’t hide the wince as she stepped back, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” 

“Maire, I’m not an idiot. Something’s bothering you. If you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine, but at least stop lying to me,” Varric’s stare was hard, but not unkind. 

_ He knows. _

“I... I’m sorry,” she sighed, hanging her head, “I’m so used to lying, I barely even notice I’m doing it anymore.”

Varric placed a hand on Maire’s shoulder, “C’mon. Let’s talk somewhere a little less freezing.”

 

* * *

 

Maire sunk into her bed, leaning against the wall as Varric pulled her desk chair forward and sat. He let her take control of the conversation, waiting for her to start. 

“I’ve been like this for a very long time,” Maire tapped her fingers to still their shaking, “I have an illness. A mental illness. Back home, we called it Depression. Honestly, it's more like despair. Emptiness. Apathy,” she closed her eyes, shaking her head, “The word depression doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Varric listened quietly, fighting his nature to interrupt. 

“I... I took medication for it. Pills,” at his puzzlement, she clarified, “They’re sort of like... healing herbs, in small capsules.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t have ‘em here. And now I’m getting worse again. I don’t know if it’s cause I haven’t taken my pills or the situation or a combination of both. Probably both. It can never be simple,” the last sentence was a resigned whisper, more to herself than Varric.

The dwarf took a second to gather his thoughts, “Let me get this straight. You’re sick. And this sickness makes you... unhappy?” Varric stumbled, “Sorry, I’m having a hard time wording this.”

Maire snorted, “You? The great novelist Varric Tethras is having trouble putting something into words?” she smirked, a small but genuine thing.

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. It’s hard being this prolific all the time.”

She laughed then, short and real. Varric joined, and the atmosphere in the room lightened considerably.

Maire’s smile turned somber, “You put it very simply, but yeah. Depression make me unhappy. It does more too, but that covers a lot of it,” she paused, rubbing her arms, “People don’t like to be around pessimists. I learned that early on. People liked me better when I pretended that I was happy. That I was normal. I got used to it. Acting like I was fine.”

Varric sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not gonna lie and say you don’t have to do that anymore. You’re the Herald. You have to put on a good show. But that’s not always true,” he leaned his elbows on his knees and looked into Maire’s eyes, “Around people like me, you don’t have to hide. Everyone who matters would understand.”

She shook her head, “I can’t take that chance, Varric. Too much is at stake. But,” she gave a small smile, “Out of everyone who could have found out, I’m glad it was you.”

“You can talk to me, Braids. Always.”

“Thanks, Varric.”

 

* * *

 

So video games have this neat feature called fast travel. It’s really handy. Saves a lot of time and backtracking. 

Sadly, it doesn’t exist in real life.

The trip to the Hinterlands was long and exhausting. During it Maire spent countless hours in close proximity to a small army of people, and it was starting to weigh on her. By the time they made camp, she was ready to tear her hair out for a moment alone. And so she found herself loitering at the outskirts of camp instead of by the fire, where most of her companions were laughing and swapping stories.

Maire watched the stars. She would always love that view. Having lived in cities her whole life, she had never seen the stars quite so bright. They sparkled in vivid colors, vibrant against the murky indigo of space. Maire felt as if she could get lost in those enchanting depths for an eternity.

“Herald, if you have a moment.”

Maire turned to find Solas looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“What do you need, Solas?”

He hesitated, “I must admit I do not know what to make of you. You are simultaneously familiar and entirely foreign. You speak with an accent I have never heard. And I am fairly certain you are hiding something,” he cocked his head, “Simply put, you are a mystery.”

She had been expecting this, albeit not so soon. Or so bluntly. Maire sighed, “Solas, there are a hundred reasons why I’m a mystery to you, but I don’t want to get into them now,” she peered into his eyes, “I’m just startin’ to get used to this. I really don’t need  _ another _ reason to feel out of place here.” 

Solas searched Maire’s eyes for a moment, then bowed his head, “I apologize. I did not mean–”

“I know,” Maire was admiring the stars again, “I promise I’ll talk to you about this. Just not today.”

Solas nodded, “Thank you.”

He turned back towards the fire, but before he could take a step a hand was on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to leave, you know.”

Solas raised an eyebrow, “I was under the impression you wished to be alone.”

She shook her head, “The fire is too crowded. One person is okay, though. I can handle that,” Her smirk was playful, hiding her earlier vulnerability. She walked a little farther up the path and laid down in the grass with the elf following suit.

“Solas, do you know anything about the constellations?”

The pair spent an indeterminate amount of time laying on the grass and exchanging insight about the stars. It was well past midnight when Varric found them and pulled them back to camp.

As Maire curled up in her bedroll, she let her mind wander. Solas was exactly as she remembered. He taught her about the constellations with patience and alacrity. Her own knowledge of the stars was not met with skepticism, but with awe and excitement. It would have been wonderful, absolutely perfect, except for one small problem.

She didn’t belong in Thedas and she didn’t belong with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! I really need some more motivation to write this and honestly that would help. I am going to finish this fanfic no matter what, so don't worry. But some feedback, critical or otherwise, would be appreciated. Thanks!


	7. Kirkwall 9:37 Dragon

It was chaos. The Chantry was gone, and no one was taking it well.

Not that Harillin honestly expected them to.

When learning about what sparked the Mage Rebellion in Kirkwall, most people don’t realize that the alienage was the first to fall in the aftermath. Elves don’t like humans, and humans don’t like elves. When a place of human worship gets destroyed, elves are the automatic suspects. 

Harillin spun her daggers in a deadly dance, cutting down anyone who threatened the alienage. She protected it with her life, but she wouldn’t get any thanks for it. The elves hated her as much as the humans did. She was a halfling. Shem to the elves, and knife-ear to the humans. Regardless, she had to keep the alienage safe. It was her home. It was where her mother lived. That meant nothing was getting past her.

Harillin worried for her friends. She knew they would be heavily involved in deciding the fate of the city. Though a part of her ached to join them, she pushed it aside. They were capable people and could defend themselves. Her mother, on the other hand, was a pacifist. 

Iowyn Roth stayed in her home as the city fell, treating elves and humans alike. Many were injured in the fighting, caught between the mages and templars. Though she wanted nothing more than to get her mother out of the city, Harillin bit her tongue and focused on protecting the clinic. Iowyn would never agree to leave while there were still those who needed their help.

She supposed that’s where she got it from.

Messengers flew throughout the city, small elves adept at evading combat. Every so often Harillin would get an update on the fighting.

**The apostate Anders caused the Chantry explosion.**

**Champion is leading the mage rebellion.**

**The fight has moved to the Gallows.**

**Knight-Commander Meredith is wielding a red sword made of crystal.**

Harillin stopped, cold dread dripping down her spine. A sword of red crystal? In the Gallows?

Repressed images flooded her mind. A young girl, dead on the floor. A glassy-eyed, blood-soaked woman above her. A man raving and thrashing in the corner. Shards of red stone piercing her loved ones bodies.

Her father was there. Her tranquil father was in the Gallows with no way to protect himself. Visions of Meredith shoving a glowing red sword through her father’s chest burned themselves into her mind.

She shook her head, violently. That man was not her father anymore. The Rite of Tranquility had seen to that. It didn’t matter what happened in the Gallows. She had to protect the alienage and she had to protect her mother.

It was less than an hour later that she received another message.

**Knight-Commander is dead. Champion and companions are alive. The Kirkwall Circle has fallen.**

When Maire got the news that her father had perished in the fighting, it almost didn’t hurt. She found herself in a stupor much like when he became tranquil. It wasn’t like she was losing him. After all she’d lost him a long time ago.

 

* * *

 

The city was struggling to rebuild. Most of Lowtown and much of Hightown were destroyed in the rebellion. The Gallows was like a graveyard, silent and disconcerting. But never let it be said that Marchers give up. People left Kirkwall, of course, but the majority of its citizens stayed in the city they knew. They’d been through it all multiple times. First with the influx of Ferelden refugees, then the Qunari Arishok’s attempt to overthrow Kirkwall’s rulers, and finally the mage rebellion. The city had been through the ringer and back, and anyone who opted to stay despite it was in it for the long haul.

Hawke disappeared not long after the rebellion. Her companions scattered like the wind. Only two remained. Aveline, in her position as Guard Captain, and Varric, in his preferred hole that was the Hanged Man.

Harillin was having a drink with Varric, only a few weeks after the Kirkwall Rebellion, when she plucked up the courage to ask him about Meredith, “Varric...” she trailed off.

“Yes, Cub?” he looked up at her over his mug of ale.

She took a steadying breath, “People are saying Knight-Commander Meredith turned into a statue made of red lyrium.”

Varric’s gaze darkened and he sighed, “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t ask sooner,” he stood and rummaged around in a drawer, pulling out a map of the Deep Roads under Kirkwall and laying it out on the table, “I hadn’t met you yet when all this happened.”

Harillin stayed silent, studying the map.

“I told you that I met Hawke because of a Deep Roads expedition, right?”

She nodded.

“Well, that expedition didn’t exactly go as planned,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “We found an ancient Thaig. From before the First Blight. Bartrand thought it would be filled with valuables, but what we found instead was a red lyrium idol.”

Harillin’s head snapped up.

“An  _ idol _ ? You’re sure?”

Varric nodded, narrowing his eyes, “Cub, do you know something?”

She shrank back, “I never told you what happened at the Loupe estate. There was this... singing. And red crystals were sticking out of that little girl’s body,” her hands started to shake, “Her mother said it needed a body to grow in,” she forced her head up, meeting Varric’s wide eyes, “There was a man in the room, and he was screaming at her to give him the idol.”

“Shit.”

“What is that stuff?” she whispered.

“Bad news. Red lyrium is what made Bartrand insane,” Varric considered the map for a moment, before looking back to Harillin, “Wait... you said something about it growing?”

“She said that it told her it needed to grow.”

Varric looked horrified, “That’s not good. There’s a statue made of the stuff in the middle of the Gallows, and you’re telling me it can grow?”

Harillin shook her head, “I think it needs a living thing. Unless Meredith is still alive in there, we should be safe.”

Varric ran a hand through his hair, “Well, shit. We need to talk to someone about this, but I honestly don’t know who.”

“You have more contacts than I do. Nobody really listens to a halfling,” she shrugged.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Cub. You’re probably the kindest person I know, even if other people don’t see it.”

“Kindness doesn’t get you connections.”

Varric grunted in answer, grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill, “I'll ask some friends of mine if they know anyone who might know something. In the meantime, you should go help your mother. She’s been swamped since Anders left.”

Harillin nodded, and made her way back to the alienage, visions of red lyrium haunting her every step.

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Kirkwall 9:41 Dragon**

 

Harillin was in the Lowtown markets, looking at throwing knives, when the Breach opened.

It was far away. So far, in fact, that the sound of the blast didn’t reach Kirkwall for a good half an hour and by that time it was severely muffled. That didn’t make it any less terrifying. There was a glowing, green hole in the sky and it still looked giant from the Free Marches.

Most people didn’t really notice it at first, but after one person saw it and screamed, everyone was scrambling. Chaos broke out in Hightown and Lowtown alike, and Harillin couldn’t help but compare it to the Kirkwall Rebellion. 

Luckily, the panic seemed to die down reasonably quick, and settled into a sort of agitated silence. About four days later, the first carrier pigeons started arriving in the Free Marches, and the panic level rose a notch or two. 

**It’s called the Breach.**

**It’s a rift in the Veil.**

**It destroyed the Conclave.**

**It killed the Divine** . 

It was all the city was talking about for months, and honestly, Harillin was getting annoyed. The gossip in Kirkwall was bad enough to begin with, but now the rumors were so far fetched even she couldn’t tell what was true. 

She sat on the roof of the Hanged Man, spending her time studying the Breach on most days. It was better than staying on the ground and listening to the gossip up close.

“They’re saying a woman walked out of a rift! She walked out of the Fade itself!”

A shrill woman’s voice rose up from the street below, loud enough to catch Harillin’s ear. 

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s true! People are calling her the Herald of Andraste!”

_ Herald of Andraste? Nugshit. _ Harillin went back to watching the sky and let the rumor fall to the back of  her mind. 

When she received Varric’s letter, she was confused to say the least. He was talking about ‘The Inquisition’ and the supposed ‘Herald of Andraste’. Harillin thought he’d be smarter than to fall for that religious crap, but then again, he was Andrastian. She read on as he started describing what happened at the Conclave. The vision of Maire and the Divine. Closing the rifts. The glowing hand. Everything. Harillin stared open-mouthed at the parchment. Sure, Varric was prone to exaggeration, but he would never outright lie to his Cub. She dealt with enough lies and shit on a daily basis that he refused to add to it.

He was telling her she should join the Inquisition. Said they could use someone with her skills. 

**P.S. I think you’d really like Maire. She’s the only person I’ve met who’s got a heart like yours.**

 

* * *

 

“Oh, sweetheart. I know you want to get out of Kirkwall but this worries me,” Iowyn held her daughter’s face in her hands, “You’re the only family I have left. I don’t want to lose you.”

Harillin gently pulled Iowyn’s hands off of her, “Mother you know I’ll always love you. I just... The Inquisition gives me a chance to start over. I can go someplace where everyone won’t know I’m elf-blooded. I’m proud of my family but–”

Her mother’s smile was sad as she nodded, “I know, da’len. Don’t worry about me.”

Harillin tackled her mother in a hug, “I’m gonna miss you.”

Iowyn kissed her hair, “And I you, my little rebel. You are going to do great things.”

Harillin sniffed, and broke the hug, leaning down to pick up her backpack. 

As she walked to the door her mother shouted, “Wait! I almost forgot!” Iowyn pulled a pendant out of her apron pocket and passed it to Harillin.

The pendant was a circular silver disk, hanging on a delicate chain. On its front was an insignia of a six-eyed-wolf. The Dread Wolf, Fen’harel. The back held a small, but detailed inscription: 

**Little Rebel, May the Dread Wolf keep you safe** .

Harillin looked to her mother, confused.

“In my clan, we often camped next to statues of Fen’Harel. It was believed that his presence would ward off dark spirits. Even if that is not true, I wanted to give you something to remind you of your roots. You are elf-blooded. Wear that necklace with pride,” Iowyn had tears in her eyes when Harillin tackled her in another hug. 

“I love you.” 

Iowyn watched her go, praying to the Maker and Creators alike that she would be safe. 

 

* * *

 

Eleven days, a boat ride, and more than one close encounter with some highwaymen later, Harillin was well on her way to Haven. She was a fit person and as well-equipped as could be expected for the journey, but every muscle in her body ached. Her pack had gotten considerably lighter throughout the trip as she ate through her rations, but it still felt like a building was strapped to her back.

The Imperial Highway was taking her around the edge of Lake Calenhad, so Harillin had a rather beautiful view of the water. She found herself spending most of her time switching between watching it, and contemplating the Breach. 

Honestly, she should have known better than to take her eyes off the road.

A large animal appeared at the treeline, and charged her. She couldn’t pull her weapons out in time before it had toppled her over and started... licking her face? Harillin stared up at the mabari on top of her. It was white, with a smattering of light grey; like ash-covered snow. The animal was wagging its tail happily.

“Get off me!”

It immediately obliged, sitting back and looking at Harillin expectantly. She slowly got to her feet, regarding the animal with caution. When all it did was watch her and wag its tail, she relaxed a fraction.

“Where is your owner?” She had said the question more to herself than the dog, but it bowed its head and whined, “Are they dead?” It slipped down and laid its head on the dirt, “Then you’re alone.” Another whimper. 

Harillin considered for only a moment before sitting cross-legged in front of it and patting her lap. The effect was fast. The mabari barked happily and stepped forward to settle its head on her knee.

“You need a family, and I desperately miss mine,” she stroked the dog’s head, “Do you want to stay with me?”

The dog, who Harillin could now see was male, jumped and started barking, licking her face. 

Harillin laughed: a rare and precious thing.

“How does Magnus sound as a name?” He barked again, looking pleased. “Then Magnus it is. Come on, we’ve got a long way to go.”

There was a lightness in Harillin’s step as she started off down the Imperial Highway once again: this time with Magnus at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody catch the references? Its in the names :)
> 
> Comments are my lifeblood.


	8. Pain and Dread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little gorey in this chapter - just a warning.

Mother Giselle was as kind as Maire remembered, and Master Dennet as stubborn. All in all, the group’s foray into the Hinterlands was a success, barring one incident involving a nug, an apostate, and a rather angry ram. She had even acquired a beautiful Red Hart, who she named Davin.

It was during the trip back that they ran into trouble.

The bandits that descended upon them were not your average sellswords. The moved so silently through the trees that no one had noticed until it was too late. Some of the Inquisition soldiers jumped to action, unsheathing swords and slicing at their attackers, but most weren’t fast enough. They slid off their horses, blood splattering on the ground with their limp bodies.

Maire hugged herself to Davin as he took off running. She had almost cleared the treeline when she ran headlong into something heavy and fell hard on her back. She was fairly certain her nose was broken, but didn’t have any time to ponder that before something large and sturdy yanked her from the ground. It shoved her against a tree and her head hit the wood with a crack.

“Oh you’ll fetch a pretty penny, won’t ya? Reckon some lord’ll think you’re real special with those spots ya got.”

The man holding her had crooked, yellow teeth and utterly rancid breath. Maire gagged, her head spinning. She felt something warm trickling down the back of her neck.

“Somethin’ ya wanna say, Pet?”

Maire grabbed his wrists and pulled at them uselessly, growling in frustration.

“What, ya got some fight in ya?” The man sneered, “We’ll have to beat that outta ya.”

He dropped her and started to drag her back towards the rest of her group. She fought to keep consciousness, trying desperately to ignore the nauseating roll of her stomach. A tingling cold swept through her body, ending in a disconcerting numbness that she didn’t have the brainpower to be concerned about. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered a panicked voice calling her name. Then the darkness took hold.

 

* * *

 

Solas was livid. The slavers would not have been a problem had they not had the advantage of surprise. The fight had been quick, and brutal. Most of his comrades were dead before he could fire off a shot of ice, and the rest of them had been overcome in a matter of seconds. He watched as Varric went down with a hammer to the temple. Cassandra was harder to fell, but eventually she too was out cold. Two other Inquisition soldiers were knocked out in the dirt: beaten and bruised, but alive. Solas himself was the only one still conscious.

He had seen Maire’s hart set off on a gallop in the midst of the fighting and hoped desperately she had gotten away. He was wrong of course. When the mountain of a man had unceremoniously dumped Maire on the ground in front of him, Solas felt his blood go cold.  Her nose was broken and gushing blood, but the obvious concern was the spiderweb crack in the back of her skull. Red liquid oozed from it in a thin line.

Though his hands were bound behind his back, he still had his magic. He closed his eyes and focused hard on Maire. His skill with healing magic was questionable at best, but it was all he could do. He had to try.

The bone started to knit back together, the cracks sealing somewhat. Encouraged, he pushed more magic into the spell, but this time it didn’t seal the cracks. Solas was bewildered. He grit his teeth and focused his magic on her head again, but it seemed it would do no more. If his hands were free he might have been able to heal it further, but as it was he had done all he could.

“Oi! Knife-ear! Stop that glowin’!”

A hand like a club struck Solas in the ear, and he was out.

 

* * *

 

When Varric woke it was to an unfamiliar metal ceiling. He thought it was odd, considering they had been sleeping in tents, but his mind was not fully back to him so it didn’t strike him as cause for concern.

That is, until he heard the scream.

He sat up like a shot, tensed for a fight. When none came he glanced around him. He was in a cage of some sort. Three of the walls, plus the ceiling and floor were solid metal, but the last wall was barred. He stood, walking to the bars. The room was massive, and housed many cages exactly like his own. Torchlight cast shadows along the cobblestone wall and Varric could make out two shapes.

One was big. Too big. Varric would have thought Qunari but there were no horns. The second one looked average sized. Human or elf then. They were talking in hushed tones, and Varric strained to listen. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he could just make out a faint whimpering coming from their direction.

One of the voices laughed. Then the screams came back.

It was a woman. Of that there was no doubt. Varric shook with a deep-seated rage. They were torturing some girl. And from the sounds of it it seemed like they were enjoying themselves. He clenched his teeth and pulled at the bars, willing them to bend, to let him through so he could help her.

But they didn’t.

 ------

Cassandra was chained when she woke. Not only was she stuck in a cage like some animal, but she had been cuffed to the wall with heavy iron shackles on both her wrists and ankles. She struggled against her bindings for a minute, but stopped when all that accomplished was chafing the skin on her wrists.

She almost started yelling, but thought better of it. If their captors believed her unconscious, she should keep up the pretense for as long as possible.

Then a piercing wail hit her ears, and she lost her control.

She screamed herself hoarse, bellowing out insults and expletives she would later swear she had never said. The sound reverberated back to her, and her view through the bars remained unchanged. It was if she was in a bubble. No sound could escape, but it could definitely come in.  

Cassandra desperately wished she had a way to cover her ears.

 -----

Solas didn’t wake when the sounds started. In the Fade, he found himself in a cage of bone. He allowed himself only a moment of rest before his memory came back to him. Maire, Varric, and Cassandra were all unconscious and wounded. He needed to get to them.

Closing his eyes, Solas willed himself awake; something he had done hundreds of times before.

It was as if he was cut off from his own body. Something was holding him in the Fade. He focused on the cage itself, but the area around him didn’t react to his attempts to shape it. Slow panic slipped into his mind.

He was trapped, well and truly trapped, in the Fade.

 

* * *

 

White hot pain woke Maire. The sound of her own voice screaming was only a dim thing in the back of her mind. A metal poker, glowing red, was pressed against her left shoulder. Stars danced across her vision. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that all she was wearing was her jeans and sports bra, but her embarrassment at that discovery was miniscule.

“I think she’s awake, Johda,” a man’s voice.

A much deeper sound  drifted to Maire’s ears: a shallow, cruel laugh that made her blood go cold, “This one is gonna be fun to burn. We gotta break ‘er of that fightin’ spirit.”

Maire felt her mind go fuzzy again, but was brought back with an agonizing force as two serrated blades dragged across her torso. Skin ripped in a ragged line from her ribs to her hip as she let out a howl of pain.

“Breaking ‘em has always been my favorite part,” the hulking man sneered and pressed a hand to her throat.

She gasped for breath, but found no respite. Her mind slowed and dizziness once again slipped into her system. The man above her smiled cruelly. Maire’s brain shot into overdrive. The panic attack was swift and vicious, her body trembling violently.

The smaller man pushed his way into Maire’s fading vision, squinting, “Let go of her, Johda. We want to break her spirit, not her neck.”

Johda grumbled, but complied, releasing his hands. Maire coughed and wheezed. She forced her lungs to pull in air, grimacing through the burn in her throat.

“Break ‘er spirit. Right,” he scowled at Maire with venom, “You sure know how to take the fun outta something, Bert.”

A sadistic smile spread on Bert’s face, “Don’t look so glum. I’ve got an idea,” he grabbed Maire’s jaw, forcing her to look at him, “So, Dollface. Which one do you like more, hmm? The dwarf? Or that woman maybe? Or are you a Knife-ear lover?”

Cold dread slipped down Maire’s spine. _No. Not them. Hurt me all the fuck you want, but don’t you dare touch them._ She kept her face neutral through her panic, glaring at the hook-nosed man.

“No answer? That’s a shame,” his grin widened, “I guess I’ll just have to choose then,” he nodded to Johda, and the the large man set off down the hall.

Maire squeezed her eyes shut. Every part of her being was screaming with pain and fear, and it took all of her fortitude to hold onto consciousness. Something wet and sticky pooled on the table underneath her, and she knew it was blood. She would bleed out soon if she didn’t do something.

A sharp clang echoed along the room, pulling Maire back into the present. She wrenched her eyes open, and felt her heart skip a beat. Johda was dragging a limp Solas behind him, his blood-stained clothes leaving a red trail on the stone floor. Bert helped him wrench Solas to his feet, strapping him to the upright rack across from her.

Bert laughed, high and barbed. He tugged at Solas’s left sleeve, ripping it just above the shoulder.

“Would you like to do the honors, Johda?”

“You kiddin’? Knife-ears are always the most fun,” the large man snatched a long iron rod out from the fire behind him, inspecting the red metal with gruesome curiosity. Johda spun the brand in a practiced movement, and pressed it against Solas’s skin.

The resulting scream was a sound that would haunt Maire for months to come. Solas’s face twisted in pain and fear, his eyes jolting open.

Something inside of Maire snapped.

Her hand surged with power, bathing the room in bright green light. The light itself became a weapon, crushing both of her torturers to the ground with a crunch of bones. Wind whipped, sharp as a knife, and cut Maire’s bindings.

Clutching her stomach and ignoring the vertigo threatening to topple her, Maire struggled to her feet. She forced them to move, staggering her way to Solas. The elf was grappling his way to consciousness.

“Solas. Wake up. We have to move,” Maire grunted with the effort of speaking and focused her attention on the mark. It pulsed painfully and once again, wind slashed at rope bindings, this time freeing Solas.

He fell hard on his hands and knees, “Ow. Maire?” a quick glance was all it took before he was scrambling to her side to support her weight, “Maire! What happened?”

“Not now, Solas. We need to find Varric and Cassandra.”

Solas conceded, and the pair of them started down the aisle of cages, checking each enclosure for a sign of their companions. Varric’s was the first familiar face they saw. Maire leaned heavily on Solas. Her injuries were bleeding profusely, and she was started to feel lightheaded again. She shook her head, clearing it somewhat, and focused her attention on the lock.

Her left hand lifted almost of its own accord. When she shut it in a fist, the lock crumpled. Varric rushed out of the cage in barely enough time to catch Maire as her slick frame slipped from Solas’s grasp.

“Braids! Maker, what happened?” He stared in horror at the bloody wound.

Maire felt ill, “It doesn’t matter righ’ now. What’s important is that we find Cassandra,” her accent was thickening, but she didn’t have the will to care.

“But-”

“Don’t argue with me, Varric. Reinforcements could be here any second.”

Varric sighed but obliged, pulling Maire’s left arm over his shoulder. Solas relinquished her to his grasp rather reluctantly, and ran ahead to find Cassandra.

Maire repeated her lock crushing trick on Cassandra’s cage and bindings, dutifully ignoring the wild fear that appeared in the seeker’s eyes, “Did anybody else get knocked out?”

The group found the only two surviving Inquisition soldiers farther down the hall. They were shaken, but relatively unhurt. Cassandra and the soldiers did a quick search of room and brought back a few low-quality weapons to pass between themselves. Varric discovered Bianca near where Maire had been tortured, noting it had more than a couple fresh blood stains on it. Maire’s armor was nowhere to be found, but her pendant was in the smaller slaver’s pocket. Varric slipped it into his own, resolving to give it back to her when they were safe.

Solas focused on Maire’s injuries, trying to staunch the bleeding as much as possible. A long piece of cloth from his shirt was tied haphazardly around her waist. It didn’t do much, but it was better than nothing.

“We need to get that healed as soon as possible. You are losing too much blood,” panic edged at his voice.

Maire’s laugh was humorless, “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”

Getting out of the large stone building proved far easier than they expected. Only one patrol walked anywhere near them on their way, and they were easily avoided. They reached the courtyard of what they now realized was an out-of-service Chantry, and found their own mounts mixed in with the slavers’ at the side of the building.

Each rider chose a mount, and soon they were on their way back to Haven with more horses in tow.

 

* * *

 

The most difficult thing about getting back to Haven, Solas found, was keeping Maire alive.

He constantly poured healing magic into her, willing her injuries to knit themselves back together, but all it seemed to do was stop the bleeding. He apologized as he used Varric’s flask of rum to clean the wound, knowing it would sting intensely. Maire herself was unconscious, and didn't react beyond a groan and a wince. Gentle and careful as he did, Solas wrapped her torso in clean cloth, and tugged one of Cassandra’s extra shirts over her head. His own coat draped around her shoulders, hopefully staving off most of the cold. Maire couldn’t afford to get sick when she was already in such bad shape. An illness now would almost surely result in her death.

Solas was all too happy to hand her off to Adan and the other healers the moment they reached Haven. He was drained and exhausted, having pushed his magic to its pitiful limits. He collapsed onto his bed and slept fitfully.

It was about three hours later when an elven serving girl knocked on his door and informed him that Maire was stable and that Adan wanted to see him. Solas set off immediately to Maire’s cabin studiously ignoring his own fatigue.

She was in bed, bandages covering her head and torso. Her eyes were closed, and her lips looked cracked. Honestly, she was in better shape than she had any right to be; There was no sign of infection, her broken nose had been set properly, and her head injury seemed to be mostly healed.

“Ah, Solas,” Adan stood when he entered the room, smiling tiredly, “You’ll be happy to hear that Maire should make a full recovery. Though someone needs to be with her at all times, in case something happens. I thought, perhaps you would like to be that someone?”

“I... yes. Thank you.”

Adan nodded, “Well then, I shall leave you be. But first,” he handed Solas a jar, “That is for you. It’s a salve. It should help with that burn of yours.”

Solas started, “How...?”

“The Herald mumbles in her sleep. You seem to be a hot topic.”

Adan slipped out of the room as Solas gaped at Maire, heat sliding up his cheeks. He couldn’t help the surge of... something, that swept through him. Guilt maybe? Affection?

No. Probably guilt.

It was his fault after all that she was in this mess. If he hadn’t given his orb to Corypheus, if he had been patient then none of this would have ever happened. Shame gripped tight in his gut, and he slid down the wall with his face in his hands.

Damn him and his pride. Would he never learn?

 

* * *

 

Maire had a headache. She cracked open an eye and immediately regretted it, groaning. The room was far too bright and she felt far too sick to have to face it.

A figure next to her stirred, “Maire? Are you awake?”

Solas’s voice. She grimaced, croaking out a hum of approval.

A sigh of relief, “Good. I was worried you would not wake.”

Maire squinted as she opened her eyes a slit, wincing at the light, “How long?” The words were barely audible, but Solas seemed to understand.

“Four days. Including travel time,” he paused, looking down at his hands, “I am sorry. I could not heal you fully. If you had died-”

“Solas. It wouldn’t have been your fault.”

He let out a derisive laugh, “And now you are comforting me while you lay bedridden from torture,” he shook his head, “You are a surprising woman, Maire. Kind, almost to your detriment. You should get some more rest. I will have someone tell Adan you woke.”

Maire didn’t have the energy to respond. She listened as Solas got someone’s attention and sent them to Adan, noting the dark circles under his eyes as he returned to his place at her bedside.

“Have you slept at all?” Maire struggled to hold onto consciousness.

His lip quirked, “Your health is far more important than my own weariness.”

Maire frowned as her eyes slipped closed involuntarily, “No... get some... slee...” She was out cold halfway through the last word.

Solas chuckled, “You truly are something unique, Maire.”

 

* * *

 

It was less than an hour later when Maire woke again, and this time she was much more lucid.

She stirred, “Solas.”

The elf looked up from the book he was poring over, “Maire. Awake so soon?”

“Water,” Maire’s voice was scratchy, “Solas, can you get me water?”

“Of course. However, it will be difficult to drink in your current position, and I am uncertain if you should be moved.”

Maire scrunched her nose, “Why exactly shouldn’t I be moved? All I remember is a bang on the head.”

Solas sat up straighter, confusion and concern fighting for control of his features, “You do not remember? That is... worrisome. You were tortured by slavers. You have a burn on your shoulder, and two rather large gashes across your torso.”

She squinted at him, “If I have that serious of an injury, then why doesn’t it hurt?”

“I suspect that is due to the healing you received. Not from me, mind you. Among the Inquisition’s mages are a few adept at healing,” the concern had not left Solas’s face.

“I... I don’t understand. Why don’t I remember being tortured? That seems like something not easily forgotten.”

“Perhaps your head injury is to blame?”

“Yeah. Probably,” Maire conceded.

Solas stood and stuck his head out of the cabin door, asking for someone to fetch Adan. A few minutes later, the alchemist entered the room.

“Ahh, our patient is awake again. How’re you feeling, Herald?”

“Not bad, considering. I hear I have a grievous injury on my abdomen but I cannot feel it,” the question in Maire’s tone was subtle, but Adan picked up on it.

“That would be Killian’s work no doubt. He’s the best healer we have. Now Solas, the messenger said you had a question?” Adan turned to him.

“Yes. I am not well versed in the healing arts, and so I do not know if it is wise to have Maire sit up currently.”

Adan nodded, “Ah, yes. If she moves very slowly and carefully she should be fine. The thing you have to worry about is that wound on her belly re-opening.”

“Good. I need some damn water.”

Solas laughed quietly, “Of course. I will help you sit up.” He moved to the bedside as Adan bid farewell and left the cabin.

Maire hadn’t really thought this plan through. In order for Solas to help, he would not only be in very close proximity to her, but physically touching her as well. She felt her cheeks flush and hoped desperately that Solas didn’t notice.

“Alright,” Solas was right next to her, “I am going to support your legs and back while you push with your arms.”

She nodded distantly, still reeling. Solas did as he said, holding her legs under the knees and a gentle hand on her middle back. As they slowly sat her up, Maire felt a slight sting from her abdomen, but it was minor. Finally, she was sitting up, with two pillows stuffed behind her back.

Solas let go and started across the room. The places where his hands had been tingled on Maire’s skin. He returned with half-filled glass of water and gingerly helped her drink. After she’d had her fill, he relaxed into his chair and reopened the book he had been reading.

Maire tried to read the cover, “Magic of the Elements: a Guide,” she glanced up, “What’re you readin’ that for?”

He looked perplexed briefly, “Ah, right. You do not remember the events at the slaver’s hideout. You... used magic to defeat the slavers. You freed all of us.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Me? I used magic? That’s not possible.”

Solas nodded, “Cassandra insisted you were not a mage during the battle at the Temple, and I can confirm that. You did not draw on the powers of the Fade at that time. It is possible that the mark is giving you power. Or perhaps you are just a late bloomer. Though a mage awakening at your age is unheard of.”

“It might be because I’d never come in contact with the Fade before,” Maire caught herself far too late, “Uhh, I mean physically, of course.”

_Dammit. You idiot! You let your guard down!_

“Never come in contact with the Fade before?” Solas’s gaze darkened as he examined her face, “You did not mean physically. That was obvious afterthought.”

_Dammit. Dammit. Dammit._

“How is it that someone could dream and not come in contact with the Fade? There is no place I know of that would allow for something like that.”

_Shite. Fuckin’ Shite. God Dammit._

“Where exactly did you come from, Maire?” Solas’s stare was piercing and unwavering.

_Fuck it._

Maire met it with a glare just as powerful as his own, her mouth a thin line, “I suggest you drop this line of questioning, Fen’Harel.”

She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. The terror in Solas’s expression was immediate, and her heart clenched. She didn’t want him to be afraid of her.

“How...?”

“I’m sorry. That is... not how I meant to tell you. I...” she sighed, “I shouldn’t have told you like that.”

Solas stared at her, fear lingering in his eyes.

She felt the panic start, but didn’t have nearly enough willpower to curb it, “I’m sorry. I- I’ve known who you are from the beginning. And it’s because- I’m not supposed to be here, Solas. I know how this story ends. I don’t belong here. Every moment I’m here I am reminded that I don’t belong in Thedas,” tears stung the corners of her eyes, “I can’t go back home. I have no idea how to even go about it. I can’t leave the Inquisition. They’ll fail without this mark. I have to keep going. I have be the Herald this world needs. But it shouldn’t be me! I know too much! It wasn’t supposed to be me. I–” Maire choked off with a painful sob, and clutched her stomach. A sharp pain shot through her torso, and she started to feel dizzy.

“Maire!” Solas was immediately on his feet. He pulled one of her arms away, and saw red seeping into her bandages, “Fenedhis!”

Maire only vaguely registered him running to the door and yelling for help. When he turned back she saw genuine concern on his features.

_Why isn’t he angry? He should hate me. I scared him. I don’t belong here and I’m messing everything up._

Solas’s face blurred and his words muffled. Before long, the darkness took hold once again.

 

* * *

 

She knew. She knew who he was. She probably knew everything else too. She could destroy everything he worked for.

Solas sat at her bedside, holding her hand: the one with his mark imprinted on it. She was sleeping peacefully. One of the gashes on her stomach had reopened as she was ranting, and had to be stitched closed again. To be honest, it was better that she wasn’t awake for that. Solas imagined it would be a rather painful experience.

Maire’s arms were bare above the covers, and Solas found his eyes drawn to her left forearm. Angry scars crossed her arm in horizontal lines from her wrist to her elbow. Most looked many years old, and the rest were only slightly more recent. Two thin lines on her mid forearm weren't scars at all, but semi-healed scabs. He recognized them as self inflicted. They looked like the wounds of a blood mage. But she was no mage, at least, not that she knew of. Just one more thing about her that didn’t add up.

Solas shook his head, sliding his gaze to Maire’s face. When she had first said his name, it had been a heated growl, but as she talked her anger shifted into distress and regret. In light of that, his fear had dissipated somewhat. Solas could tell she she was in pain, and the very thought sent a pang of guilt through him.

It wasn’t the first time he felt his heart lurch because of the red-haired woman, but it was no less strange than it was then. She wasn’t supposed to be real. He wasn’t supposed to care.

But she was, and he did.

“I am sorry. All of this is my fault. If it were not for me... you would probably be home, wherever that is. Safe and sound. Now you have almost died because of me,” his head drooped, and he whispered, “I am so sorry, Maire.”

“Stop... Blamin’ yourself.”

Solas’s head snapped up. Maire’s eyes were open, and she was looking straight at him.

“You did what you thought was necessary. You had no way of knowing Corypheus would end up destroyin’ the Conclave. Now stop feelin’ guilty, and let me get some rest,” Maire’s voice was scratchy and tired, but brooked no argument.

Solas watched her fall asleep with a mix of awe, confusion, and grim amusement. How was it she could be so kind and so forgiving while in such pain? He knew he wasn't capable of the same endless empathy.

Regardless of where she came from, Maire Clare Cassidy was an extraordinary woman in Solas’s eyes.

And that scared him far more than her knowing his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please dear god someone comment on this. I want to finish this fic desperately but i need more motivation. please.


End file.
